


Pretty Little Thing

by Dojh167



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Community: HPFT, F/F, Hogwarts, Hooch's first day of teaching, One Shot, Post-breakup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 15:13:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7110841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dojh167/pseuds/Dojh167
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              
<p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <em>This morning, Septima is everywhere.</em><br/>  </p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty Little Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Banner by jupiter @ The Dark Arts  
>   
>  _Originally posted on HPFF on 4/12/16. Written for Frankie05 and AngelEyez3954's Wish It Was Canon Rare Pair Challenge_  
> 

Last night was my first time sleeping in a Hogwarts bed since I graduated five years ago. I had imagined that a staff bed would feel less lumpy than those in the student dormitories had been. I had been wrong.

I had also imagined that once the night’s dreams had passed, her face would be gone. Again, I had been wrong.

This morning, Septima is everywhere.

She is in the cold space beside me in bed. She is on the other side of the door, waiting behind every corner. She is in the sound of my breath, wavering with uncertain expectation.

My fingers quiver as I hold the mascara up to my eyelashes. I haven’t bothered with it for weeks, but today my hand reached for it as automatically as it did on the mornings when Septima would cast me a glance over her shoulder and tell me I was her pretty little thing.

It has been roughly five years since I’ve spent a night at Hogwarts. It has been exactly one hundred and seventy four days since I’ve seen Septima. Today both clocks set back to zero.

I close my eyes to clear my vision. She is there in the empty darkness of my mind. I open my eyes to shake her image away. She is in every corner of the room, every inch of my body. I repeat the process, and all that changes is that my eyes gain a little more water, a little more redness.

There is nothing left to do but face the day. I take a deep breath and put on my brave face, which I realize looks a lot like my normal face. It will have to do.

Walking through the castle does not feel so different from standing alone in my room. There are different spaces and different faces, of course. The students don’t arrive until this evening, and the other faculty members I pass seem to honor this short lived peace with their silence. There is the occasional nod or curious glance, but nobody stops me to make small talk or demand I explain what I’m doing here, how a silly young thing like me could try to pass for a professor.

But through the strange silence of the castle and my mounting nerves, there is still Septima. She is still in the cold space beside me. She is still waiting behind every corner. She is still in the sound of my breath.

I arrive in the Great Hall. It seems my slow start this morning has worked in my favor. There are only three professors around the single table, and none of them are Septima. I quietly dish myself a modest breakfast, and sit near the older gentleman I do not recognize. I am more prepared to attempt to socialize with someone new than to try to justify myself as a teacher to those who taught me only a few years ago.

Thankfully, the meal passes simply, and after a few pleasantries and an extra pastry, I am on my way to inventory the school’s stock of broomsticks.

I am beginning to develop a confidence in my step. Maybe I will get through this day. Maybe the students will respect me. Maybe I won’t have to see Septima. And then there she is.

“Ro.”

My entire world focuses in on her. My breath no longer seems to come through my mouth, but through my eyes as they cease to see anything but Septima. She looks so different and official in her professor’s robes, and yet so little has changed. Her face holds the same distant confidence that has always entranced me. Her dreadlocks are the exact length and texture that I always remember them. Her voice calls to me and my heart yearns to answer.

“I wondered when I’d be seeing you.” Her words seem to flow out of her like liquid, but by the time they reach me they are solid, wrapping like tendrils around my torso and constricting my breath.

I clear my throat, but my voice still cracks when I speak up. “I work here now. Flying coach and referee for - ”

Her smile cuts me off. Of course she knows why I’m here. She takes a single step closer and I feel as though she is upon me. “And you wait for me to seek you out?”

“Well, I - ” I stammer. “I didn’t know if I - if you wanted…”

Another step closer. “After all that time we spent together? How could I not want to see you?”

I feel the color draining from my face, but I refuse to let my voice drain with it. I take a breath, then another, before responding. “You made it perfectly clear that seeing me was very different than being seen with me.”

Septima is clearly taken back by the cold resolution in my voice. She takes a steadying breath of her own before continuing with unwavered poise. “Yes, well, appearances being what they are - ”

“You couldn’t possibly tell the world you were with a twenty-three year old woman. Yes, I’ve heard.” I am prepared for this fight. All of the words spoken in the last days of our relationship have played on repeat in my head for the last six months. Doubtless Septima has waved such unpleasant thoughts away, but for me they never stopped.

“There is no use dragging that up now,” Septima mandates, her voice flowing thick as molasses.

As ready as I am to fight, I feel my body falling into it’s familiar rhythm: trust Septima, please Septima, appease Septima.

She steps forward once more, her confidence in our dynamic restored. She reaches out to touch my cheek. “You always were such a pretty little thing.”

I snap my face away before makes contact, as much as my skin yearns for the warm touch of her fingers.

“I am not.” My voice is small and unarmed in its attempt to defend me.

Septima smiles endearingly at me. “Now, I know that you’re not mine anymore. But you’re still a pretty - ”

“No,” I object again. “I am not pretty, I am beautiful. I am not little, I am grown. And I definitely am not a thing.”

Septima raises an astonished eyebrow before once again trying to smooth over my words with the lathering seduction of her voice. “Well, darling, if I had known that was how you felt of course I would have changed what I said. There has never been a thing you wanted that I haven’t gladly given you.”

“Like when I said I wanted to marry you?”

I know immediately that I should have held my tongue. As much as we can dance around our old fights, I know that bringing this one up will get us nowhere. But I cannot stand here and let her rewrite our history when I also hold a quill.

Septima looks sharply at me, and I recognize the darting of her eyes as they seek out the best solution to a bothersome problem. “Oh, please.” She has chosen dismissal. “You didn’t know what you wanted. I mean, you were practically a child!”

I can’t help but laugh that this is her chosen ammunition. “Is that what I was to you, a child? The blushing young witch just out of Hogwarts? I’m sure our respected coworkers would be thrilled to hear that fantasy.”

“Oh please, Ro. We were both adults. And I hadn’t even started teaching when we met - ”

“Oh, I think I remember.” The calloused edge of my words feel strange on my tongue, but I cannot let her continue to speak over me. “Wasn’t that when you couldn’t find time to see me for months and a time and when you did it was only over a stack of books and papers?”

“Now you really are acting like a child.” There is no softness in Septima now, her eyes and voice draining of all pretense of affection.

“No, darling. I was asked to come here as a professional, and I will be nothing less.” I stand tall and do not wait for Septima to respond. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have work to do. I really can’t waste any more time.”

As I push past Septima I can see her face working to reassess the situation, to find a way to come out on top. That look on her face stays with me as I march out to the quidditch pitch. In the space beside me, around every corner, in my very breath, I know that is the face of someone who will not overpower me.

When I unlock the broom cupboard I quickly assess each of the brooms, not to inventory them, but to select one to take me up into the air this morning. I pick out a sturdy looking Moontrimmer and, wasting little time, mount it and kick off the ground.

The air is clear up here. It rushes at my face with a strength that mirrors my own pace. I maneuver my broom in bold arcs and dives, and the world bends around me at my will. I breathe deeply, and all that I hear is me.


End file.
